Clipboard Secret
by the bright strike
Summary: He's too cool. Too collected. Calculative, and always writing on that clipboard. I can see right through him, and it makes me sick to my stomach. Butterflies? -- No. It's a disease. KyouyaxOC, T for language.
1. The Person I Hate

_First chapter's kind of dull, but it gets better, I swear!_

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"Just look. Look at him." Aimee said as she latched her hands to my shoulders, shaking me back and forth so that my body bounced around like a bobblehead. When she was done, I began slowly pulling out the newly formed tangles in my frizzy rust-brown hair, an exasperated sigh coming out of my mouth.

"Will you stop? It's getting... annoying." I told her with a slight scowl. Aimee was my best friend and we'd been there for each other through thick and thin since a young age, but was currently going through this phase where she was absolutely _obsessing_ over these random (or not so random, because I'll have to admit, they are hot, hot, hot shit) guys.

The one she currently had a fix on right now was Tamaki. Tamaki Suou of the host club that dominated the women of our school.

Almost every girl has been there at least once I'm sure, even I'm guilty of it – curiosity and the charm that all the guys possessed had drawn me in, and I had found myself captivated by their magic for hours on the other side of the door that led to the borrowed music room.

But I've always preferred something a little more personable than what the Host Club had to offer. Something like, say, a boyfriend?

Still, I've had no luck in that department in the past couple of years. No guy has even looked at me since my last break up and just thinking of it cast a gloomy cloud over my head. Aimee noticed this and gave me a great big slap on the back. It had probably meant to be gentle and reassuring.

"Come on, cheer up Miho! Why don't you come to the club with me, oh pleasepleaseplease, _PREEEETTY _PLEASE?" Aimee begged, clasping her hands together and tightly squeezing her eyes shut.

"Oh, fine." I muttered, rolling my eyes and trying to sound annoyed. In truth, I actually wouldn't mind paying a visit to the Host Club a second time. It was true that the happiness found there was superficial and only temporary, but hey – I'd been in a shitty mood lately and this would, no matter the impermanence, definitely cheer me up.

A bright grin flashed across Aimee's face as she hooked her arm onto mine. "I love you Miho! Soooo much." She squealed, pulling me towards the Host Club.

"You owe me." I told her, sticking my tongue out so that she would know I was only playing.

Aimee seemed to think this over for a moment, a finger prodding at her chin before she came to a conclusion. "I'll treat you to some steamed meat buns after, okay? Hehe." A giggle. The notion would have been more appreciated if I hadn't already known that she was just offering because _she_ would be hungry by the time we were finished at the Host Club.

Upon reaching the door, Kyouya greeted us with his arms spread out. "Welcome, beautiful ladies from all over our lush and rich campus, to our school's finest Host Club! We hope you enjoy your stay..." With a very low, formal bow and a gentle smile (one that held no real emotion, however) he gestured for us to enter.

"Oh, I'm so, so, _soooo_ excited!" Screeched Aimee, raising her voice to volumes I didn't even know it could reach. Probably to get the attention of the hosts. I sent her a dirty glare, not liking the attention. She simply ignored me and went on to sign up for a host.

I separated from her knowing that she would want the time she had with Tamaki all for herself and would already be having enough trouble fighting off the girls that wanted his babies.

It was useless to tell her that she would never bee anything special to him – it was his job, after all, to charm women and make them feel loved. And, I had to hand it to him, he was good at it. But he added too much icing to the cake for me to like, his compliments were just a little too over-the-edge.

Honey was too cute and child-like, despite being one of the oldest members of the Host Club, and choosing him would have made me feel like a pedophile.

Mori walked hand-in-hand with Honey so he was also out of the equation, although I think he is the most my type. He looks strong and cold, but I'm sure on the inside he's got a soft heart and a gentle touch that he would only use with someone he truly cared about. Like Honey.

To be honest, I'm pretty sure Mori is gay for Honey. And vice versa.

Err. Anyways. There was also the twins. Well, I've never been one for incest, and since I'm about to pay money to be flirted with, I would much rather be the center of attention instead of watching two clones hit on each other.

Haruhi, I don't even know what the appeal to him is. He seems like any other guy at our school save for his extremely feminine features which I, personally, don't find attractive at all. But he was quite popular.

Last on the list, Kyouya. Probably the furthest from my type. Cold, calculating, there's something about the way he watches over the club that I find creates an uneasy atmosphere – but maybe it's just me. Maybe I need to loosen up a bit.

But, who should I choose? Not Tamaki – I would rather not get in the way of Aimee's flirting. I glanced her way to see how she was faring and noticed that she was practically giving the blond a lapdance. I'm sure that he didn't mind. The other girls did however, shooting her glares that made a shiver run up my spine.

It was a mystery to me how she could just ignore it.

"Excuse me, miss... Miho Hirano, am I correct?" Each syllable was perfectly enunciated. You could tell that the question had been exercised many times before. The speaker, Kyouya, waited with a patient expression for my response.

I nodded my head, but didn't feel the need to open my mouth and answer.

An awkward silence. I wondered what he was thinking about – probably compiling the next batch of words to say. He didn't seem like the kind that would start a conversation without a purpose, and I imagined he was going to egg me into choosing a host instead of standing by the doorway like a dumbass.

"Is there anything the matter? Do you perhaps need assistance in selecting one of our excellent hosts?" Another one of those monotone, practiced smiles. I felt a little proud that I'd successfully guessed part of his dialog.

I shook my head. "No, no. I'm... uh... thinking." I pointed at my head as if to show my point.

He nodded in a slow and understanding fashion. "Take your time. I know it is a hard decision to make." Before looking away again, he scribbled some things down on his clipboard. I wonder what he writes about. The hosts, or the guests perhaps, and their behaviors and their preferences?

Oh, well. It was none of my business. By now, I had given up on trying to choose a host. None of them were suited to me, and as such I didn't want to force myself on any of them (not to mention, I didn't want to spend my money).

I noticed a stool a few feet away from the door and settled into it comfortably, my gaze switching from the hosts, to the guests they were entertaining, to Aimee, watching her try her hardest to ride on Tamaki's nuts.

I could hear her girlish giggles from where I was sitting.

Sometimes, I wish she wasn't so loud. When I'm with her, attention always gets drawn to me, yet even though people recognize me as her best friend, no one actually knows who I am.

Oh well.

I don't mind not being the center of attention. I prefer it that way, actually. I'd rather be working backstage instead of as one of the actors on the stage.

A tired sigh floated out of my mouth and I began to boredly analyze my surroundings.

The stool I was seated on was rather comfortable. The cushion had a nice spring to it and I bounced up and down to test it out. I ran my hand against the fabric, tracing patterns in it and then flattening them out again before glancing at a clock on the wall. One hour left. Great.

Fingers tapping against my shoulder caused me to lift my head up and turn around. "Can I interest you in one of our monthly Host Club magazines?" Kyouya asked, holding one out for me to take. It was offered at the perfect angle – not so close to my face that it was invading my personal space, but close enough so that I caught a glimpse of the cover (The Host Club members on a beach, each one half-naked and striking sexy and obviously-planned-but-made-to-look-natural poses).

"Um. No thanks." I shook my head.

"If you say so, Miss Miho Hirano." He responded with a curt nod and turned away again, although I saw him glance back at me once or twice. Probably wondering why I was wasting my time here if I wasn't going to do anything.

I began to once more distract my mind from the slow ticking of time, counting the amount of guests there were to each host and ordering them from the one most likely to be fucked to the one most likely to be fucked when drunk. Another glance at the clock told me only ten minutes had passed and I had fifty more to kill. I groaned, then stood up and took a few steps towards Kyouya. "Uhh," I started awkwardly, grabbing his attention.

He turned to me and adjusted his glasses. "Yes?"

"Oh. I was just wondering if I could... you know... look at those..." I muttered, pointing at the stack of magazines that towered on a little wooden table behind him.

Without even turning to see what I was referring to, he nodded. "That will be– "

"Err. Oh. Nevermind." I waved my hands left-to-right in front of his face to show that I didn't want to look at them anymore. Not if it cost money. I didn't want to buy them.

"Why are you here, Miss Miho Hirano – if I may ask?" Kyouya asked. It was clear to me that he was irked by my presence there and was only asking so that he could, a few sentences in, subtly hint for me to leave.

I gestured towards Aimee. "Waiting for a friend."

"Ah. How nice of you." Kyouya commented with a nod of his head. Silence followed and I teetered back and forth, debating whether or not I should go back to the comfy stool, the one with a bouncy red cushion. "Are you hungry?"

"Huh?" The word was a reflex, a response that I had thrown out without thinking. His question had caught me off guard.

Kyouya set the clipboard down onto the table next to the magazines and placed the pen in his sweater pocket before responding. "Well, I've just about finished my work," A glance at the clipboard to show me what his 'work' was, "And if you're tired of just sitting there..."

"Oh." I was speechless. He was just trying to boost his sales in the long run though, I'm sure. I wouldn't fall for it. But... I was hungry. And judging from the way Aimee had Tamaki wrapped in her arms, I doubted that she would be leaving at closing time. Not willingly, anyways. "Um, sure. If you pay." I added the second sentence hastily, and he chuckled.

Not one of those Oh-how-cute chuckles but one of those You-bitch-but-I-have-to-be-polite-so-I'll-chuckle kinds. "Anything for you, miss Miho Hirano."

I laughed. Not one of those Oh-how-cute laughs but one of those Yeah-that's-what-I-thought laughs.

He pulled the door open for me, gesturing into the hallway and I briskly stepped out, turning around and gesturing to Aimee that I would be back. She gave me a wink when she saw that Kyouya followed and I knit my brows inward and shook my head to tell her she was wrong.

"Shall we?" Kyouya asked, holding his arm out for me to take.

"Yeeeeah, let's go." I agreed, ignoring his arm and keeping my distance from him as we left the campus. I wondered where we were going to go. I wanted steamed meat buns.


	2. Let's Play a Game

yayyy, chapter 2 is up. the story's still going a little slow, but soon it will get better, soon~! so stick around, yeah?  
reviews and comments and constructive(!) criticism greatly appreciated.

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A sky splattered purple greeted us as we made our escape from the school, slowly making our way across the spacious courtyard. I pretended to be staring intently at the rose bushes so that I would not have to make awkward conversation with Kyouya Ootori. What had made me think it was a good idea to go out for food with him, anyways?

We hadn't even gotten off the campus yet and I was already regretting my decision. Not a word had been exchanged between us since we left the classroom and, although I found the silence to be rather unsettling, I decided I would rather not have to make conversation with a person who had such a despicable personality.

"How was your day, miss Miho Hirano?" In my mind, I had won a game – I had been able to withstand from breaking the wall of silence. But I came to the understanding that in reality, I had lost, because now I had to talk to him.

I would just let him lead the conversation on. Hopefully, it would just die off within a few exchanges. "It was average." I could have been polite, and said that it was good, so that he could have responded with a mock-cheerful Oh, that's good. And then probably comment on the weather or something, but I wanted to kill off all topics as quickly as possible.

"Your friend is quite full of life, isn't she? That Aimee Egami." He pulled out a new subject, a swift transition. I wondered why he chose Aimee though, of all things. Perhaps he wanted to research her so he could jot down notes in his notebook and find a way to kick her out, seeing as she was pushing away most of Tamaki's much needed fangirls.

I nodded. "Yeah. She is."

Dot. Dot. Dot.

Silence. He'd given up, I was sure, and although I was grateful that now I could walk in peace and quiet, encompassed only by my own thoughts, I had, in my own mind, always thought of Kyouya to be more of an interesting person to talk to.

I thought he would surely create a fake, cute and sugary opinion to get on my good side so that he could slowly persuade me to do his bidding. He seemed like the type who would have minions like that.

I suppose I might be a little curious about Kyouya. He was probably the one doing all the dirty work behind the Host Club. How black was his heart? How far would he go to get what he wanted?

These were often questions that I'd ask myself when I passed by him in the hallways during school hours, thoughts that passed through my head whenever I saw him staring deliberately out of a window or intently writing on his clipboard.

"Where do you want to eat?" The questions started again.

I shrugged. "Wherever you want to go, I suppose." We had started making our way down the street and I noticed when I glanced up at the sky that there were clouds hanging over us. It would rain later that night, no doubt.

"How do you feel about fast food, miss– "

"Miho. Just call me Miho." I interrupted. I couldn't stand any of the formalities that all the Host Club members seemed to put so much emphasis on, specifically the addressing of us girls as 'miss.'

Kyouya nodded to show he understand. "Then, Miho. Fast food..." He said it quickly, almost forcefully, and I could tell by the tone of his voice that it was no longer a question, but rather an order. I could tell that he was regretting leaving the music room just as much as I was.

My curiosity had reached a level where it needed to be quenched. I wanted to conduct an experiment, to push my limits, and his, and see where it would take us, just out of curiosity. So I stopped midstep, crossed my arms, and said quite firmly, "No."

"Huh?" His turn to be taken aback, just like I had been when he'd originally invited me out for food. "Then, where would m–" He stopped himself, then began again. "Where do you want to eat?"

I stood there for a moment, pretending to think, striking poses. I took my time, and I don't doubt that there was a smug look on my face when I saw his tighten with impatience. "I'm not hungry." I said finally, my voice airy and uncaring. It wasn't too far from the truth – I had eaten an orange about an hour ago, and as I normally don't eat too much to begin with, it would keep me going for a little while longer.

"Well, would you like to return to the host club?" He asked, gesturing back towards the school. I stood there for a few seconds without speaking, testing his patience.

Then I shook my head. "No."

A puzzled look grazed his features, if only for a second, before it flattened back into it's usual cold, mime-like gaze. "What would you like, then?"

"Err." I hadn't thought that far along. My mind grasped out for something to say, something that would annoy him, and I quickly caught my tongue. "Food. I'm hungry."

The atmosphere tensed and I could almost feel him getting fed up with the bullshit I was giving and I wondered if he could tell just how amused I was at the whole situation.

"Then... food." Kyouya gestured the opposite direction of the school, where we had originally been traveling.

I shook my head. "It has to be homemade food." I said.

He raised an eyebrow, and I was sure that if he hadn't been able to before, he now knew I was definitely playing a game with him. I waited patiently to see what he would say next. "I don't have time for this." With that, he turned around and began to walk back towards the campus.

My mouth formed an 'o' shape as I watched his figure become a little smaller with each step. I quickly followed, however I made sure to keep my distance.

Clomp, clomp, clomp.

I could only hear my footsteps on the pavement and my eyes were pointed downwards, watching each movement my feet made and so I had to let out a little yelp of surprise when I looked up and not an inch from my face was Kyouya Ootori's back.

"Ah!"

He turned. "I'm sorry for my rude behavior earlier. If you would like, we may go back to my home and I can get a meal fixed for you right away, if you are still hungry." A smile wider than any I'd ever seen from him stretched across his face. He was really trying hard.

"You have to carry me." I explained, lowering my voice. I tried to sound scared, but it didn't work so well with my obvious attempt to suppress laughter.

"What..?" He sounded tired. Exasperated.

I nodded, confirming that what he had heard had indeed been correct. "I'm tired, so you have to carry me."

"This is ridiculous!" There it was, an explosion! Big bang! My eyes lit up like a child watching a movie that had just hit its climax, like when Darth Vader revealed his true identity. "What are you trying to PULL here? Carry you, to my house? To eat MY _FOOD_? Don't fuck with me!"

I heard the sound of a little boy walking home with his grandmother from down the street behind us, but once they had passed there was only a buzz of nothingness that filled the air.

I swallowed my saliva. What had come over me just now? Although I certainly have never considered myself timid, I was also never the type to speak out and intimidate people like I had just done. Had I somehow been able to enter a comfort zone as I was talking to Kyouya? Had my curiosity really just gotten the best of me?

How peculiar.

"Ahem." He cleared his throat. "Back to the Host Club, then." He looked at me questioningly, probably wondering whether I was coming along or not.

I bobbed my head up and down once in a stiff nod. "Yeah, back." I agreed awkwardly. We retraced our steps back down the block and by the time we were back to the school, the sky had already turned a hazy dark blue.

Back into the building, up the steps, turn left here, right there, left, left, and then into the Third Music Room.

The activities for the day had begun to wind down and when we re-entered the room I watched as satisfied girl by satisfied girl began marching out the door, waving to the hosts with a merry bounce to their motions that could only be caused by love, or at the very least, the illusion of it.

At the sight of me, Aimee, who was still glued to an annoyed-looking Tamaki, waved and hopped up from the couch her body had been sunken in all day, and she ran and leaped and gave me a bear hug that nearly sent my body crashing to the perfectly polished ground.

"Gah!" I teetered back and forth before knocking into the end table and watched as the leaning tower of magazines avalanched to the floor.

"M- Miho! Look what you've done!" Aimee wailed, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me back and forth and then pointing accusingly at the mess on the floor, as if I hadn't already noticed.

"Oh. My bad." I said, simply shrugging in response. It hadn't been my fault, it had clearly been Aimee's, and I knew that she already knew that, and I knew that she was only shoveling the blame loudly on me to catch the attention of the hosts.

She looked displeased with my muted response and immediately launched herself towards Tamaki, clasping her hands together in a delicate, apologetic pose. "I'm so sorry! I'll stay and help clean, I promise! I'm so sorry about what Miho has done." Aimee was a good actress, I had to hand it to her. If I was a guy, the whimpery, helpless look on her face would have melted my heart.

However, I'm not, and instead my face twitched in annoyance.

Tamaki looked stunned for a moment before he lifted his hand up and patted her on the head, a gentle smile grazing his lips. I wondered if, on the inside, he wanted to wrench her hair into a tangle of knots and then lodge her out the window.

"It's really alright, but if you'd like t–" Started Tamaki, ready to accept Aimee's plea for forgiveness and redemption for 'my' clumsy mistake.

An interruption knocked down the perfect mood Aimee had been building towards like a bulldozer to a glass building as Kyouya opened his mouth. "Such help won't be necessary, miss Aimee Egami. We can handle it." I could tell that he was trying hard to level his voice so that no emotion seeped through, so that Aimee wouldn't hear the knife-like tones that his tongue wished to slice through her offer.

Like me, Kyouya could probably see through Aimee's act. He has that way of reading people, and I wondered for a brief moment if he could see through many of my actions as I could his, but I shook this thought out of my head when I realized how troubling it was.

"Ah, but... I... I really am... sorry..." Aimee stuttered, lifting one hand to gently touch her cheek as if she had just been slapped and was left standing there alone and heartbroken.

At this point, I decided it was my turn to step in. "Aimee, they can clean up the magazines. It's not that hard." I said coldly, reaching for her arm and tugging roughly on it. I shot her a look that told her to haul her ass out the door right. this. second, and although she normally calmed and became obedient at my death glares, this time, she fought.

She angled her sorrow filled face towards Tamaki and began once more. "I have time, and I really... I really am sorry! So please let me help, for my conscious won't have it any other way."

"WELL," Chorused the twins, Hikaru and Kaoru, and I cringed at the sight of them because the only image that circulated through my head whenever I saw them was of my first visit to the host club in which the two look alikes were making out and pinning each other to the wall of the music room where many squealish, horny girls clasped hands with each other and purred about how hot it was that they were being incestful.

"It's not _youuuu're_ fault that the magazines dropped!" Exclaimed one of the twins matter-of-factly, wagging his finger.

Uh-oh. I didn't like where this was going.

The other twin nodded in solid agreement and pointed intentionally towards me, a stern expression on his face. "It's your friend's fault! Make HER stay and clean!"

A stunned silence followed in which Aimee glared at me, as if I had somehow brainwashed the twins and forced them to say this. As if I was the one that was desperately clinging to the Host Club long after it was ready for closing, as if I was the one shamelessly trying to get a foreign blond 'prince' to stick his key into my lock.

I shook my head. "No. Like Kyouya said, you guys can pick it up. It's just magazines." I turned around, ready to leave the room whether Aimee was going to follow me or not.

The door shut behind me and I took several steps forward before glancing over my shoulder, certain that my best friend would be there pouting and whining and complaining that she had been so close to seducing Tamaki, and if I had just allowed her a little bit more time...

But I was greeted with nothing but an empty hallway.

Aimee hadn't followed me.

I guess trying to get into a host club member's pants was more important than me and I was suddenly swarming like a million hornets, angry and wanting to scream. "Aimee, FUCK YOU!" I shouted to the door, although I was certain those on the other side would not be able to hear it.

"I hate the stupid Host Club, there's a fucking five-year-old in it, and a mute doll that follows him around, and two disgusting, gagworthy incestful twins, and some dumb I-hate-to-admit-it-but-he's-fucking-hot foreigner, and a stupid, emotionless, ROBOTIC. PRICK!" My voice raised with each word that left my mouth and by the end of my childish fit, I was out of breath.

"Emotionless, robotic prick? I'm flattered."

I turned, shocked that a response had come to meet my complaint.

Kyouya.


	3. Must Be Karma

_Chapter 3, I'm sorry that kind of took a while *cough* Anyways, I hope you enjoy! This story is coming on a lot slower than I thought I would but I hope you guys are liking it anyways._

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Any constructive criticism, praise, or just flat-out hate all should be openly expressed in the form of reviews! ^_^ _

_Also, I want to know what you guys think will/should happen, as I already have a lose idea but I want to know what people think as they're reading the story. Drop me a pm and tell me! _

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PS: You may have noticed, but this story went under a title change. I didn't like the old one, so yeah..._

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"Err," The words in my head felt like a jumble as I became uncertain as to how to respond. A snobbish smirk slipped onto his face and I crossed my arms and said accusingly "Shouldn't you be helping them pick up magazines?" The idea of an apology had crossed my mind for little more than a second before it was erased away.

Someone like Kyouya would surely expect a formal bow and a frightened, polite sorry, but I was not going to give him what he wanted. In fact, when he would come to demand such an action for me, I decided that I would just spit it back in his face and throw fists and kicks in the form of words.

However, I was sorely disappointed when Kyouya's expression reverted back to the way it usually was, solid like a statue with no emotion to be found. "I suppose you're right, Miho." He responded calmly, turning to return to the Host Club.

I hissed curses under my breath but refused to embarrass myself even more and instead turned around, stomping away from him in defeat and heading towards my home where I had an unpleasant toss-and-turn in bed and angry dreams.

"Miiiiiiii-ho!" The voice crashed down on me like a boulder, piling stress and annoyance on my shoulders and would surely worsen the dark circles under my eyes that even a blind person could notice. I was so wrapped up in my anger last night that I hadn't gotten a wink of sleep, and I had two people to blame for that.

Kyouya, and the person who stood before me.

"Aimee." I grunted my greeting, shoving past her to show that I still hadn't forgiven her for the mess that she had gotten me tangled in yesterday. She clung to my arm, unwilling to let me walk away from her.

"Miho! Don't be mad, pleeease?" She pleaded, her eyes widening. My best friend is a good actress. People that passed by us in the courtyard shot me dirty looks, as if I was the one that had been shoving _her_ through various torture devices and not the other way around.

"I am!" I refused to give in, crossing my arms to show defiance.

"But Miho. I like him, I really do..." She begged. She stared at me. What was I supposed to do?

"I don't care, Aimee. I don't care that you like Tamaki, you can chase him like the rest of the girls all you want!" I sputtered, waving my arms frantically as I did so. "It has nothing to do with me." We were both strong people. When we wanted something enough, we went out to get it regardless of other peoples' opinions.

Perhaps that was why Aimee and I fought so much, but also why we were such good friends. Enough so that small fights like these couldn't break us apart.

She knew me well enough to know, however, that I wasn't going to budge. I wasn't going to visit the host club with her anymore.

"Fine, but please do something about those bags under your eyes." She said to me, fishing through the bright baby blue handbag that she carried with her and fishing out various skin colored beauty products. "You have to look your best, or you might never find a guy!" Aimee winked, and I groaned tiredly.

I was about to refuse her when an image of Kyouya flashed in my head. Of him smirking at my baggy eyes, scruffy hair, wrinkled clothes... and I wouldn't have any of it. I snatched the products out of Aimee's hand and yanked her with me to the bathroom where I piled so much that I looked very little like the original Plain Jane me.

My friend nodded in approval. "I get it, Miho. There's someone you like."

"Huh?" I looked at my hands still holding the various utensils – mascara, eyeliner, concealer, lip gloss, to the mirror where my prettied reflection stared back at me, to Aimee.

"Why else would you be trying so hard?" She asked matter-of-factly as she began placing the things I was holding back in her bag.

"Because Ky–!" Wait, no. I couldn't tell her. Then she would surely insist that I had a crush on the vile man, and that had to be the furthest thing from the truth. I would have to keep my hate and thirst for revenge all to myself. "We'll be late for class, let's go." I said, motioning for her to follow as I headed out the door.

The day had come to a close and Aimee had scampered off to the host club to drool and kiss Tamaki's "perfectly sculpted feet, each toenail clipped to perfection" as I'm sure she would say about him.

As I rounded the corner, a familiar voice made the hairs on my body stand on end, my alertness immediately blinking bright fire engine red.

Kyouya!

A girl was talking to him; I didn't know her, but I recognized her. She was pretty, with hazel hair that I wondered whether or not was natural (and jealous if it was), long curly ringlets that stopped at her elbows and large, almond eyes. "I... I like you!" She confessed.

My jaw dropped and, despite that I tried to regain composure, simply hung there. I had walked into the middle of a sharing of romantic feelings!

Shuffling my feet, I hid articulately behind a statue and peered out, watching Kyouya's expression. I expected it to change, to shift even the slightest bit. I thought he might looked surprised, or that the iciness in his eyes would melt just a little.

But no, his posture didn't change and without even an ounce of sympathy he said, "I'm not interested. Sorry." With that, he walked away leaving the girl with wide, surprised eyes. She stumbled out of the hallway, clearly upset and embarrassed as he casually scribbled on his notebook in the opposite direction.

Which, coincidentally, was towards me.

He was so distracted with his writing that he had yet to see me so, on an impulse, I extended my arm out and snatched the clipboard, pulling it away from him.

I pleasured in the sharp gasp, the inhale of air, the stumble as he tried to regain his balance, the stunned look on his no longer expressionless face as his body hit the ground.

However, some things didn't go exactly as planned. Some things backfired. Sometimes, people did not fall clumsily and harmlessly, sometimes you couldn't just point and laugh and run away with a clipboard. Sometimes, people crash landed into a dangerously heavy marble statue, and sometimes they didn't open their eyes.

I was never the type to start screaming someone's name when they were obviously knocked out – that only caused a scene, that only made people more _aware_ that you must have had something to do with it. I scanned the empty hallway for someone to help me, my fingers clutched my sleeves tightly as I forced my quickly beating heart to stay under control.

"Miho Hirano."

My body reacted before my mind and I turned, pointing at Kyouya and saying "I didn't do – I, ah – !" It was Mori of the host club. The one who was joined at the hip with Honey, the creepy, tiny Hi-I-look-like-a-fucking-3rd-grader one, and he was holding a strawberry shortcake on a tiny golden platter in his left hand.

"He uh, tripped." I stated simply, regaining my posture and standing up, patting my skirt and tilting my head towards Mori in a way that meant I wanted him to help.

He looked from Kyouya's body to me, and then back again. "Oh. Perhaps I should take him to the nurse." He suggested monotonously.

The corners of my mouth twitched into a forced smile and I had to just about shove appreciation into my voice as I cheered, "Thank you Mori! I don't know what I would do without you." Though the fake emotion fell short upon the last two words and my face molded back into a neutral state. "Well, I'll be off." I said, turning on my heels and heading down the hall.

Mori was a flat out dumbass. I think I may be the only person to have such an opinion, but all he ever really did was stand there and look strong and do whatever his little munchkin owner told him to.

"Wait." The low voice called after me and, a little bit thrown off, I turned around.

"Yes?" My fingers tapped against my thigh impatiently.

He stared at me blankly. My lips tightened and I squinted my eyes at him in obvious annoyance, but my glare did not help him form words any faster and he took his time in arranging his sentence. "I saw it. You made him.........." Him...? "........ fall."

I had to wonder why there was such a long pause between the words 'him' and 'fall' and was tempted to make a witty response, but I would have liked to keep my head on my shoulders that day and knew that, unless I quickly appealed to him, I would be stuck in the hospital wing with – ugh – Kyouya.

"It was an accident." Still, that was all I could manage.

Mori stared. "I'm strong."

Err...

If he was trying to sound threatening, it wasn't exactly working. If I were nicer I might give him credit for trying, but no – something like 'I'm going to ring your neck out and hang it on that statue if you don't help.' would have been more persuasive. Just a little bit.

"... The clipboard."

Hm? My ears perked. For once, he'd gotten my full attention. "What about it." I stated boldly, hands on my hips.

"I'll give it to you if you come. And stay with him. You can read it." He nodded. Ah, so he was negotiating, and surprisingly enough he had somehow found a middle ground, and I gave him one curt nod and began walking towards him. No more words needed to be said and we walked in silence towards the hospital wing, Kyouya slung over one of his shoulders and the clipboard held tightly in the other hand.

Even when he was knocked unconscious with a giant bruise the shape of a manly sculpted face (guess where he'd landed on the statue?) beginning to form on his forehead, Kyouya looked uptight. He looked ready to fight, as if were he to be assaulted or accused, he would be able to immediately snap into consciousness and accuse right back.

I entertained myself by wondering whether Kyouya was as uptight as I'd originally thought, or if he actually had a face deformation.

Mori and I told the nurse that we had both witnessed Kyouya, so focused on his clipboard, trip and hit his head on the statue by the host club and I offered in the most flatteringly sweet voice that I could manage, to watch over him and tell him what happened when he woke up, seeing as she was so busy and all.

It worked.

I sat with my legs dangling off the bed Kyouya rested in, eyes scanning the perfectly formed letters on the white paper. Every page was something about money, the host club, how to trap women into the host club, and personal information on each of the most frequent visitors.

I was looking for Aimee's name when instead, I spotted my own in a page I'd flipped past by accident. Startled, I moved my hand to flip the page back down when suddenly, Kyouya's fingers latched around my wrist like a serpent cutting off the circulation, his grip so tight his knuckles were white.


End file.
